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10/28/2015

Good morning friends and readers! Welcome back to Monday with Story Orgy. Ready to see what happens next?

Mum's the Word

Chapter
Eleven

Oct
12: "Death changes everything."

One promisingly tall lump turned out to be
a vacuum cleaner stacked atop a drum set. Another was a dressmaker’s mannequin
dressed in a beaded, glittery dress and sporting what Owen’s inexperienced eyes
interpreted as a fortune in square cut diamond jewelry.

But none of the twelve rooms down the left
side of the hall revealed a cigar store Indian. Nor, to Owen’s immense regret,
did they find a mummy or even a sarcophagus hidden in any of the dark corners.

“We should have done this this morning,”
He muttered to Izzy. “A quick run through for large objects--”

He froze, staring down to the central
hallway over Izzy’s shoulder. A glimmer of light off in the far corner, where
it should only be darkness.

“Owen?”

The professor had moved across to the
opposite side of the hall and a door there. The fairy light in the hall
winked out, then back again. “Izzy… take the flashlight and follow the
professor.”

“What?”

Owen nodded down the hall. Widened his
eyes, tried with everything he had in him to convey without words that he
wanted to check out the mystery door again. Sadly, Izzy only seemed receptive
to psychic conversations that were sexually oriented.

“Gentlemen.”

“Yes professor.” Izzy scurried… actually scurried
to the professor’s side with the flashlight.

Owen huffed in disgust. “I’ll be right
back. I have to go to the restroom.” He didn’t wait for either of them to
respond. Stepping out of the circle of the flashlight’s glow gave him second
thoughts. But not enough.

“What? No.” Izzy protested, but Owen shook
off his reaching hand.

“I’ll be right back. If you find something
I’ll help carry it.”

Let Izzy keep the professor on track
opening doors that led to rooms full of dusty nothings. Owen was convinced that
if there was anything in this building worth finding, then it was worth hiding
behind a fake door in a wall hidden behind junk. And clearly someone else
thought so too.

But who?

He slipped as quietly as possible down the
hall in the dark, out into the wider central hallway. The light in the back was
more visible now, a defiant fuck you to the darkness… a siren call to his
curious nature.

Back in the corner behind the debris pile
they’d investigated that morning, the long thin line of light provided a basis
for his investigation. The tools… that was limited to a knock off Swiss army
knife he’d thought to bring along. Owen removed the cool bit of metal and
plastic from his pocket, and opened it to the thin screw driver blade. Reaching
up high, he wedged the blade into the crack and pried it forward. The panel
didn’t move.

There had to be a latch somewhere. Even
though there was no handle. Leaning close, he studied the crack, looking for
the telltale spot of darkness that would give him access.

On the other side, he couldn’t help but
notice shadowy movement. It was enough to give him pause, but not enough to
stop him. He’d deal with the movement… if and when he got the door open.

Halfway down the wall the screwdriver hit
the latch with what sounded like an incredibly loud clink. With the latch
released, the door swung inward before he could catch it. Owen stepped into a
space more dimly lit than that line of light had indicated.

The sense of motion was explained when he
identified the light source as a candle flame. One of those large, thick wax
candles with three wicks stood on a wooden crate in the center of the small
space. The ones he’d seen before had been scented like vanilla and other
perfumey things, but this one was odorless. There wasn’t anything else in the
room though. Just that crate, the candle and the flickering flame.

At first he was disappointed, but when his
eyes adjusted and he was able to see behind the candle glow into the dim
shadows, he was able to pick out something that made his heart race. Almost
directly opposite was another door. Other than the shadow there’d been no
attempt made to hide this one. It was just as much heavy wood and industrial
fixtures as any of the dozen they’d already opened that night.

Only this door boasted a tarnished brass
name plate reading Horace Gould Department of Archaeology.

The name was familiar from the letters
they’d found.

He glanced over his shoulder. The faintest
noises from hall c indicated that Izzy and the professor were still searching
room by room. How much time did he have?

Did it matter?

Owen entered the room, one hand holding
the door open. He couldn’t leave it open. While it would be good to have Izzy
follow him, no way did he want Dr. Gregoire discovering the former head of the
archaeology department’s office.

The inside of the door had no handle
either.

No matter. He could use his knife to open
it again. Cautiously, he let it close and picked up the candle. Too bad he’d
given his flashlight to Izzy. The door to the professor’s office wasn’t locked.
The knob turned easily and the door made no noise as it glided toward him.

In retrospect that should have given him
pause, but by then it was too late.

The candle…

The oiled door hinge…

All of it spoke to him too late.

The pain exploded in the back of his skull
seconds after he stepped into the old office, but not before the candle flame
flickered over brilliant colors, jeweled enamel and gold.

A sarcophagus. The sarcophagus changed
everything.

He’d found it.

The second blow drove him to the floor.

A third struck brutally below his rib
cage. Owen sucked in a breath and tried to roll away. He crashed into
something, setting off a train reaction of small thuds and earned himself
another painful blow. This time his vision blurred.

Out of focus… surely that was a white
tennis shoe not a gauze wrapped foot swinging in for a third blow?

He didn’t have time to convince himself
before it all went dark. But it had to be a shoe.

It had to be.

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